shopping bags and girl in jeansAs you know, my friend Pajama Jeans (not her real name) has the amazing item that inspired her namesake, and I’ve been forever jealous.

My jealousy stems not only of the fact that she owns the jeans, but that she looks great in them.  Why are we friends again?

I’m not sure why I’ve never bought a pair myself.  Maybe it’s because I was afraid they wouldn’t be as comfortable as I hoped they’d be, or maybe it’s because I wasn’t up until 2:00 in the morning watching infomercials.  (Wait a minute…yes I was).

Whatever the reason, I’ve been hesitant to buy them.  Then that fateful phone call occurred and everything changed.

Unfortunately, I missed the call.  Isn’t that the story of my life?  I looked at my phone in the middle of the day on Sunday and realized I missed a call from Downtown Christy Brown (not her real name).

She left me a message, so I knew it had to be urgent, as she typically can’t be bothered with modern technology such as voice mail.

I assumed she was calling to tell me about a buy one get one free offer at Baskin Robbins.

I walked towards my closet to grab my sweat pants for my upcoming binge, and listened to the message.

girl with phoneShe sounded out of breath, which I assumed was just excitement about the prospect of double chocolate brownie sundaes smothered in whipped cream.

But she had something else to report:  K-mart had Pajama Jeans!  What?  K-mart?  As in Martha Stewart’s K-mart?

I was puzzled because the infomercials I had seen stated these items were only available through the TV offer and I was confident they wouldn’t lie to me about something so important as comfort.

I told her she must be mistaken, as they couldn’t be found in stores.  She assured me this was the real deal and asked if I wanted a pair.

Really?  Did I want a pair?  What kind of question was that?  That’s like asking if I wanted a second cupcake, or if I’d prefer not to see my personal trainer ever again.  Of course I did!

I was a bit disappointed in her questioning as I thought she knew me better than that.  Clearly the days of stuffing our faces with chocolate lava cake and wishing for expandable waistbands meant nothing to her.   I cherished that time and thought she did too.

I collected my thoughts, telling myself I could drown my misery in a milkshake, and told her I wanted a pair of Pajama Jeans asap!  She said she would buy me a pair and my heart skipped a beat.  Could it be that I would soon be the proud owner of a pair of the famed jeans?

credit card

I knew I needed to have a pair, as I couldn’t be the only one of my three closest friends that didn’t have them.  After all, I was a bit of a trendsetter.  People looked to me for the newest fashion and style updates.

I was like Vogue magazine for our friends, only I didn’t smell like perfume samples, nor did I find myself wearing a cocktail dress while perched on the top of a mountain holding a designer purse looking like I hadn’t eaten in months.

Wait a minute, perhaps I was more like the Mad magazine of our group.

Whatever.  I had to have the jeans.

DTCB called me after the purchase to advise she had them in her possession. I  told her to come to my house immediately or risk termination of our friendship.

I knew with such high stakes, she would make it to my house in record time, despite her bad driving and jerky automobile.

She arrived quickly, and my dogs alerted me to her presence by barking when she got about a half mile away.  I could barely contain my excitement.  This was better than Christmas! I got exactly what I wanted and didn’t have to sit through an hour of Christmas carols and Aunt Betty’s gallbladder stories.

blurry shot of jeansSomeone needs to tell that woman to lay off the fiber.  Seriously.

As DTCB opened the door to my house, I swear a ray of light shone down on her and I heard a chorus of angels singing.

It may have actually been my porch light and the sound may have been my dogs’ incessant barking, but whatever.  Don’t detract from my moment.

She came in holding the bag as if it was a delicacy, and in some ways it was.  Could it be possible that a pair of jeans could be cute yet comfortable?

I figured it was just a myth, like Bigfoot, or honest politicians.  But there they were, waiting for me to find out.

I opened the bag and saw them in all their glory, folded in the cardboard packaging.  At first I wondered why they were in cardboard, but then realized that some of my favorite things come in cardboard containers.

NOT: My favorite things aren’t raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens, although I wish they were. If those things brought me joy I wouldn’t cringe every month when the credit card bill arrives.

guy in jeans with dogSome of my favorite things allow me to be lazy and entertained, which is the best way to be.  Items such as  TVs and blue ray players allow for this, and they come in cardboard boxes, as do refrigerators and boxes of cereal.

It only seemed appropriate that something so amazing as Pajama Jeans would come in the same packaging as frosted Lucky Charms (they’re magically delicious after all).

I couldn’t contain my excitement anymore, and the jeans I was wearing were digging into my stomach causing an indentation, so I ripped open the box and took out the jeans.

I looked them over and was excited to discover they looked like real jeans, just as the infomercial boasted.  I ran (okay, walked) to my bedroom to try them on.

I slipped them on and immediately felt more comfortable.  They were perfect.  And there was a drawstring!  A drawstring!  You know something is comfortable when it has a drawstring.

I emerged from the bedroom and modeled the jeans to DTCB and my husband (who couldn’t care less about the purchase).

They were comfortable and fashionable all at the same time.  It was at that moment I realized that anything is possible.

If I can find a pair of jeans that are more comfortable than lounge pants, then anything is attainable.  So maybe I could lose that 100 pounds in a few days time.  If not, I will still be comfortable in my Pajama Jeans.

And maybe this means I can stop shopping in the maternity section of Target.  Well, let’s not get crazy…